


The Lark

by EllieCee



Category: Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Classism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Racism, kinda like in raise your voice, music conservatory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieCee/pseuds/EllieCee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn Malik must navigate his way through a lily-white, snooty music conservatory after unexpectedly getting discovered and offered a scholarship by music professor, Zane Lowe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I've had this in my head for a while, and let me say first off that I have nothing against any Zayn/1D Boy ship. I just wanted to try something new, and after reading some really cool Zeadpool one-shots on tumblr, I decided to write a Zayn/Original Male Character fic, because why not? 
> 
> I also threw in his band and team as his best friends because I enjoy them as people too. I hope you like it haha. 
> 
> -
> 
> This first part is written in the point of view of Zayn's love interest, Colin.

“Where’d they dig him up?” Edward cackled. His eyes are set on the dark-haired bloke that had been tailing Professor Lowe all morning.

 

Colin tries his best to shrug off Edward’s comment. 

 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. Dark hair is sat all the way up front right by the stage, just three seats away from Professor Lowe.

 

Edward kicks at the chair in front of him, earning them a dirty look from Charlotte.

 

“You reckon he’s another one of Lowe’s charity projects?” 

 

Colin ignores him again and sees Professor Lowe whisper something into Dark hair’s ear. He leans back, revealing tattoos crawling up his arm. 

 

“Maybe he’s a rent boy,” Edward snickers, “He’s pretty, right Col?”

 

“Please,” Colin mutters, but not before blushing at the thought. Dark hair turns around for a moment, all cheekbones and long eyelashes in Colin’s line of sight.

 

Edward’s right, but Colin’s never going to tell him that.

 

Before his mind can wander off to his next thought, Professor Lowe claps his hands together.

 

“All right. Before we get started we have a new student here. Everyone, this is Zayn Malik, he’s the lucky winner of this year’s scholarship. He’ll be joining our choir and music program.”

 

“ _He_ won?” Edward scoffs.

 

Dark hair - Zayn Malik - stands meekly for a second before taking a seat. 

 

Zayn Malik.

 

Zayn.

 

“I know we’ve not had any new members in this choir since our first year, but I guarantee you, this young man is well deserving,” Professor Lowe continues. 

 

“In fact, why don’t you sing a little something for us, Zayn?”

 

Zayn turns three shades paler. 

 

Edward giggles. Charlotte turns to glare at him again.

 

“Um,” Zayn starts. 

 

Thick Northern accent. Another note Colin takes down.

 

“I’m not really trained like everyone here. Wouldn’t it be better after a few classes?” Zayn says softly.

 

“Nonsense. Any talent is talent.”

 

Zayn gulps and the room falls into a tight silence. Colin finds himself holding his breath as he watches Zayn walk to the center. 

 

“I’ve given Zayn the piece we’re working on to audition with. He’ll be singing the solo part,” Professor Lowe explains. 

 

“This should be hilarious,” Edward whispers. 

 

 Then Zayn opens his mouth.

 

His voice swirls around the theater like autumn leaves and echoes like a bell. No, he’s not trained like he’d said - he slurs and mumbles just a bit, but Colin feels something tickle his stomach. 

 

“But I can’ this time ‘cause it’s gonna defeat me…” Zayn sings.

 

Goosebumps prickle on Colin’s skin.

 

He remembers clearly what Professor Lowe had said on his very first day: “When someone can make something look effortless, it’s a god-given talent.” 

 

Zayn made it look like singing is a breeze.

 

“Bad technique,” Edward says under his breath, but Colin knows he’s angry at Zayn already - for being good. 

 

The solo ends and people clap, including a hesitant Edward. Colin realizes he’d been digging his nails into his palm and staring at Zayn’s eyes. 

 

Oh damn. 

 

No.

 

“Good job! With the training you’ll receive this year, I don’t doubt you’ll reach your full potential,” Professor Lowe says, clapping him on the shoulder. Zayn smiles wryly and for a minute, meets Colin’s eyes. But maybe he’s just daydreaming. 

His stomach is churning now. And it’s definitely not because he’s hungry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part will be in Zayn's POV. They will alternate each chapter!
> 
> I will be tagging triggers as they come along. Feel free to let me know if you need any warnings!

Exhaustion. 

Maybe a tad too dramatic, Zayn thinks, but his bones and limbs felt heavy by the time his final class had ended. He hadn’t even tried to pick up any of those massive instruments lined up in the band room. He walks with a crowd until they thin out and he finds himself in front of the door to the courtyard. He pushes it open and lets the cool air hit his face. Foggy and cloudy, but it feels refreshing. He leans against a column and drops his bookbag by his feet.

 

Deep breath. 

 

The air in the conservatory is different. It’s suffocating, funnily enough, despite it being bigger than the cramped apartment he lives in. There’s something lingering in the air and the way people looked at you. It makes his skin crawl. He’s itching to find Professor Lowe and unload about his first day but he’d already forgotten his way around the school. It all felt very first day of secondary school, but heavier somehow - and whiter.

He chuckles to himself as he leans against the wall. He’s used to it only being Ned and Devon, now it’s nearly every face he’d seen today. He thinks about looking for Professor Lowe, but his head aches. He needs a breather. He closes his eyes and sighs. 

 

Overwhelmed. Yes, that fits better. He’s extremely overwhelmed. 

 

If beginner’s music theory has him winded, he didn’t want to think about what’s ahead. 

 

He thinks about lighting up a cigarette, but Chaynler’s words ring in his head. 

“Don’t get comfortable until you know what you’re up against, Z.” 

 

Zayn loosens his grip on the pack in his pocket, picks up his bag and walks back inside. He decides to walk left, he thinks he’d seen Professor Lowe head that way earlier. Zayn makes it two steps before a collision and he falls on his knees against the marble tiles.

 

Shit. That really fucking hurts.

 

The other guy’s nearly face-down on the floor, music sheets practically splattered around him.

 

Oh no, Zayn thinks.

 

“S-sorry,” he stutters, holding out a hand.

 

The guy looks up and stares for a moment, face unreadable, before reaching to take Zayn’s hand. 

 

“It’s okay,” the guy replies, ears red. He gets down to pick up the sheets with jittery legs. 

 

“Let me help,” Zayn offers, and picks up the flyaway papers just a few meters away. The guy is dead silent until Zayn hands him the last of his sheets.

 

“Thanks.” 

 

He gives Zayn ad wry smile, ears still glaring red. 

 

“No problem,” Zayn replies. The guy’s eyes stay locked on Zayn until he nervously shakes it off and laughs. 

 

“Sorry. Rattled,” he says, pushing his hair back. “I’m Colin.”

 

“Zayn.”

 

“I know. You’re the new bloke in choir. You’re very good.”

 

Zayn’s cheeks warm up.

 

“Nah,” he chuckles, “I’ve not even got proper training.”

 

Colin stuffs his sheets back in his bag.

 

“And you sound good without, can’t say that for some of the kids here,” Colin partly whispers.

 

Zayn laughs.

 

“We needed a good tenor too, the last one, Jeremy graduated last-”

 

“Colin!” 

 

Colin’s voice falters, head turning around sharply.

 

Zayn can hear the person’s squeaky Oxfords before he reaches them. He recognizes the bloke as soon as his face comes out of the shadows (which was actually kind of a bit comical). He’s the Baritone that looks like he has two 12 karat diamonds stuck up his arse. 

 

“Oh, making friends with the new kid,” he says as he plants himself besides Colin. “Edward Lockwood. You’re Lowe’s new boy right?”

 

Edward gives him that look, that one Zayn knows too well. He lets his guard up and plants his feet firmer on the ground. 

 

“I got the scholarship, yes,” Zayn says warily. Edward cocks an eyebrow. Colin is dead silent once again.

 

“Where are you from again, Zayn?” he asks.

 

The question is simple, but loaded. Zayn knows where Edward’s stuck up arse is trying to go. 

 

“Bradford,” Zayn replies, eyes narrowed.

 

Edward smirks. There it is, Zayn thinks. 

 

“Mmm,” Edward mumbles, “How did you get here then, huh, Zayn?”

 

And there it is. Edward coats his words accordingly, but Zayn knows what he means. 

 

“I got the scholarship,” he snips before turning to go.

 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

 

He glances back and catches Colin looking at him again, with that same unreadable look.

 

* * *

 

 

Chaynler’s humming and the soft strumming of Liso’s guitar had never felt so comforting until they greet Zayn when he enters the door. He doesn’t say his usual quip of “I don’t know why you girls even bothered renting out a flat if you’re always at ours.” Truth be told, he nearly cries from joy seeing Chaynler’s red hair sprawled on their couch. He almost doesn’t mind that Liso had once again rested her boots on the throw his mum had sent him to London with. 

 

“No yelling at Liso for her boots?” Chaynler says, looking up from her textbook.

 

He laughs and lets himself fall on the couch.

 

“I’m exhausted,” he sighs, rubbing his face. 

 

“Studies show that rich white people are exhausting,” Chaynler sing-songs, haphazardly highlighting something.

 

“Then why did you lot convince me to take the scholarship?” Zayn says. He can smell Ned attempting to fry something in the back.

 

“Because it’s a good opportunity,” Liso says, “Also, it means we don’t have to deal with your moody mug during morning classes.”

 

Zayn sticks out his tongue, getting a silly face in return. 

 

“Where’s Nava?” he asks.

 

“Home,” Chaynler replies, turning a page in her textbook. 

 

Zayn looks at his bag and thinks about the homework for beginner’s music theory. His head aches again.

 

“Home? You mean you don’t actually live here?” Zayn says sarcastically. 

 

“There’s the comment!” Chaynler chuckles, before tossing a pen at Zayn’s head.

 

Ned walks in, carrying the smell of whatever it was he’d been trying to cook.

 

“They’re always here to mooch off our food,” he says, setting down a plate of something unidentifiable on the coffee table. 

 

Liso looks up from her guitar.

 

“Not whatever you just made,” she laughs, wrinkling her nose. 

 

“What the bloody hell is that? Zayn exclaims.

 

Ned sighs, sadly staring at the plate.

 

“Me and the grilled cheese got in a fight,” he says. He pokes the pile of burnt bread, cheese oozing to the sides.

 

“You mean toastie, mate,” Zayn says. 

 

Ned licks the cheese off his fingers and leans back on the couch. 

 

"Sometimes I forget you’re British,” he laughs. 

 

“I go to school in London and end up befriending five Americans and one Korean,” Zayn points out. He fondly remembers their first toastie vs. grilled cheese debate.

 

“But you love us,” Liso jeers, “We’re much more interesting than the people at Snooty Music U.”

 

“You better agree or we’re never coming over to ‘mooch off your food’ again,” Chaynler says, glaring at the burnt sandwich. 

 

“Hey! But you gotta say my pancakes are great,” Ned protests. 

 

“Not really mate, no,” Zayn answers before Ned lightly punches him on the shoulder.

 

Zayn reaches for the beginner’s music theory homework _,_ but Ned flips his laptop open to the newest episode of _Chopped._

 

The ingredients were scallions, apple butter, and Cocoa Puffs. 

 

Yeah, the beginner’s theory can wait longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobia, homophobic language

_When the dark turns to mist,_

_IiiiIiiiiii just can’t resist it…._

Being friends with Edward for years, Colin thinks he’s got a hang of blocking him out when he goes into one of his useless tirades. He doesn’t really remember what this one’s about - something about a place in Savile Row and a declined card - and he doesn’t really care. 

 

_I’m a fool for you,_

_And the things you do_

 

It’s easy to make Edward think he does. For a bloke who thinks nothing can get past him, he’s stupidly oblivious.

He stares at Charlotte’s bright blue nails tapping against the wooden table. They’re a lot more interesting.

_I’m a foooOOOooOOooOl for you,_

_And the things,_

_The things you do…_

 

“We should start planning for holidays, Col,” Edward says, tone shifting. He pulls out his phone and scrolls for a second or two before shoving it in front of Colin’s face.

_I just love being a fool for you-ooo-ooo…_

 

St. Tropez.

 

“Looks nice,” Colin says, adding extra enthusiasm in his smile. There’s a thick brick wall standing beside him and excitement for some reason. Instead, something else is flurrying in his head…

_This love is tainted._

 

“You’re really off today,” Charlotte pipes. Colin breaks his stare from her bright blue nails.

 

“Am I really?” he plays dumb. 

 

“Yes. Did you eat something rank?”

 

“Told you to stop buying food from the food trucks outside. Only plebs do that,” Edward says. 

 

“Why are you so rude?” Charlotte scolded, whacking Edward’s arm with her pencil. 

 

Edward nearly loses his grip on his phone.

 

“Hey! Careful!”

 

Charlotte rolls her eyes.

 

“I don’t know how Colin has dealt with you since you were six,” she huffs.

 

“Used to it,” Colin replies.

 

“Hey!” Edward exclaims, flashing him a sharp look.

 

“Well Ed, it _was_ pretty rude to say that.”

 

Edward scowls.

 

“Oh come on, it was a joke.”

 

Charlotte rolls her eyes - far enough that Colin can see the whites of her eyes. She collects her books and walks off, her heels tapping on the stone pathway of the courtyard. 

 

“She’s so sensitive,” Edward huffs.

 

Colin shrugs. 

 

* * *

 

 

_When you’re lookin’ like this, IiiiIiiiIii just can’t resist it…_

 

Colin wakes up to the rain falling in sheets, an empty flat, and puddle of drool on his music theory textbook. His phone is blinking wildly with notifications; one from Charlotte about an art gallery, and mostly from Edward. He’d gone out with their other friends (more of _his_ friends to be honest) to the pub and had told Colin he’d be welcome to join them.

 

The flat feels damp and it seems to echo a bit from emptiness. Colin thinks about the music theory homework, and how any other time he’d go join Edward down at the pub. 

 

But he quite likes the quiet right now, he kind of likes the Edward-free space. Sometimes his boisterousness wears him out. 

 

He still didn’t feel like doing that homework though.

 

He digs for an umbrella and unplugs his phone.

 

Another text from Edward.

 

_“mate u allright? u know where i am”_

 

He ignores it but texts Charlotte back.

 

_“the gallery sounds cool i’ll think about it. tell me when it is”_

 

Colin walks out into the rain, no plan in his head. He just wants to rid of the strange stirring in his brain.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Edward who picks where they go. Usually. Most of the time.

 

It’s not that Colin lets him have free reign, he thinks. He just doesn’t really know where to go. Or he just doesn’t really know where he wants to go. He feels like he’d turned a GPS off without Edward.

 

But the quiet. 

 

He likes that.

 

He likes the quiet. 

The rain’s falling thicker now, the sky fading into a dark blue. The streets are bare for the most part, mostly office workers scurrying home. 

He’s hungry, he realizes when he smells food. He’d not been to this part of town much - the area closer to the public university. 

He feels displaced, but the water is starting to seep in his shoes (he really should’ve worn rain boots) and he’s dying to sit somewhere dry and warm. A small restaurant with a blaring neon light catches his eye. Just enough people in the window for him to not feel strangely alone, so he walks in and finds a seat.

The vinyl seat of the booth feels a tad stiff, but it’s much warmer in there and it smells delicious - much more delicious than the failed atrociousness that usually happened when he and Edward tried to make dinner. He kicks his soaking wet umbrella under the table and takes a look around. 

Mostly uni kids, his age probably. There’s a soft rustle of conversation, busy feet, and clinking dishes. A couple eyes take a curious look at him, but they quickly lose interest and he feels relieved. He feels his phone buzz. He’s sure it’s Edward, but he doesn’t want to answer. 

 

“Hi, welcome to Randall’s, can I get you something to drink?”

 

He’s startled, firstly because he did not see the waiter come forward, but secondly because he sounds and looks like -

 

“Colin?”

 

His heart races at an unbelievable speed.

 

_Zayn._

 

_"_ Oh, h-hi,” he says throwing in a small smile. 

 

Zayn smiles back softly. He’s clad in black pants and gray shirt with the restaurant logo. The golden nameplate by his chest reads “ZAYN” in capital black letters. He smells like cologne. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks, as he puts the menu down.

 

Colin feels his palms sweat. That’s ridiculous he thinks.

 

“Oh, just looking for new places to eat,” he answers. His face feels incredibly warm when he looks at Zayn’s face. Lord. 

 

“Glad you found us then,” Zayn replies, eyes crinkling at the side. The stirring in Colin’s head gets heavier. 

 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “S-so. What would you recommend?”

 

Zayn smiles again and it sets something off in Colin’s stomach. Maybe his chest. Maybe his head. But it feels fuzzy and strange, but all too familiar…

 

“Uhm. People quite like the shepherd’s pie. Best seller.”

 

“I’ll take that then,” Colin says. 

 

“Good choice.”

 

When Zayn walks off Colin feels his body relax. 

 

Ridiculous. 

 

 

The pie _is_ good. 

A girl called Chaynler takes care of him for the rest of his meal. He’s strangely disappointed, his head craning over a few times to catch a glimpse of Zayn taking other customers’ orders. He doesn’t really know why, but it sends tingles down his stomach.

But Chaynler is nice and pretty, has got gorgeous hair. She’s American, which surprises Colin initially. She laughs and tells him people are always surprised - she’s the only American working in this restaurant. Zayn’s one of her best friends, she says, and Colin sees them bantering when they cross paths. 

When he’s done, he leaves Chaynler a generous tip. He stands by the doorway and watches the rain fall even harder (if that was possible). He catches Chaynler’s eyes grow wide at the tip. She taps Zayn, who was a table away, and shows him. Colin takes that as his cue to go.

Zayn glances at him and smiles - the one with the crinkled eyes. Colin feels jittery but smiles back and walks out into the rain.

_But I can’t this time cause it’s gonna defeat me…_

 

* * *

 

 

Edward is lying pink-faced on the couch when Colin gets home. He carefully takes off his wet shoes and sets them on the mat. 

 

“Where were you?” Edward slurs, arm over his face.

 

“Went out to eat,” he replies coolly and makes his way to his room.

 

“Could’ve joined me and the lads.”

 

“Didn’t feel like pub food.”

 

Edward shoots him a thumbs up. 

 

Colin lets himself into his room and pulls off his damp clothes. He slips into his pajamas and crawls under the warmth of his blankets. The music theory homework lay undone on his floor. 

 

He still doesn’t feel like it. He’s suddenly groggy again. 

 

His eyes close and he sees a crinkly-eyed smile before he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

_“Colin, what on earth did you tell James?”_

 

_Colins shifts his little body under his bed. The space is tight, he won’t be able to hide under there soon._

 

_He sees Elizabeth’s green eyes looking at him._

 

_"_ _Colin, what’s wrong, love?”  
_

 

_He sniffles, heart pounding. James told. James definitely told Mummy and Daddy._

 

_“I s-said. I just s-said. I wanted to marry Timothy.”  
_

 

_Elizabeth freezes for a moment, then her face softens._

 

_“Oh,” she says, “Marry like how, darling?”  
_

 

_The floor feels so cold against Colin’s skin. He wants to throw up._

 

_“Like when Auntie Barbara married Uncle Francis,” he says. Elizabeth’s eyes grow softer, wet, red rings forming around them.  
_

 

_“Oh love. That’s quite -”  
_

 

_The door bursts open and Colin feels his heart sink. Heavy footsteps stomp in, footsteps he’d memorized._

 

_“Is he here?”  
_

 

_Elizabeth gets up._

 

_“James, please don’t be like this to him -”  
_

 

_“Where is he? Where’s the little f*g? What do eight year olds know about this rubbish anyway?”  
_

 

_“James!”  
_

 

_Another set of footsteps._

 

_“Children, settle down!”  
_

 

_It’s his mum’s voice._

 

_“Please. Give us a moment to speak to Colin.”  
_

 

_His dad._

 

_“You better fix this. Can’t have his snotty little self perving all over my best mate,” James exclaims.  
_

 

_“Do you hear yourself?” Elizabeth screams.  
_

 

_“Enough!” their dad bellows, “Out. We need to speak to Colin.”_

 

_Colin sees his mum peek through under the bed._

 

_“Baby. Come here for a second, daddy and I need to talk to you. Come on darling.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, this fic _will be_ containing some potentially triggering material and I will tag it the best I can. Let me know if there's any other warnings you need!
> 
> Just to avoid confusion, the people in the flashback at the last part are Colin's immediate family. I hope it wasn't too vague.
> 
> As for what Colin looks like, I kind of imagine him looking like [Taron Egerton](http://assets2.ignimgs.com/2016/03/15/san-diego-comic-con-celebrities-ign-68jpg-8ddbbajpg-19d6af_765w.jpg), but I made his description vague on purpose so you can pretty much picture any white male celeb you want in his place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have to ask all of you to forgive my music theory knowledge with this, lol. The sad part is I have spent a good amount of years learning this shit, it just didn't stick. Yet here I am, insisting I write a fic about a music conservatory.
> 
> You notice there's really not a lot of time spent in the classrooms, lmao.

“How much did he tip you?” Griff exclaims, nearly falling off his seat.

 

Chaynler’s eyes are drenched in excitement as she pulls out the wrinkled bills from her wallet.

 

“One hundred quid,” Zayn says matter-of-fact-ly. Ned, Griff, and Nava stare at them with wide eyes.

 

“And Zayn knew the guy who tipped you?” Nava asks. 

 

Chaynler plops between Ned and Nava and rests her feet on the table. Zayn wrinkles his nose at it. Chaynler mouths “Love you.”

 

“Yes. Zayn said he goes to ‘Snooty Music U’,” Chaynler replies, finally turning to Nava. 

 

Zayn pushes Chaynler’s boots off the coffee table and sits at the spot. Chaynler lightly kicks his leg, Zayn sarcastically mouths “Love you,” in response. Chaynler smirks and rests he feet on Zayn’s thighs. Zayn chuckles and lets them stay there.

 

“As I was saying, before Zayn so rudely interrupted me,” Chaynler continues, “He told me the guy was in his choir class.”

 

“You friends with him, Z?” Griff asks. 

 

Zayn shrugs, fiddling with the buckle on Chaynler’s boots. “Not really. Ran into him once after class.”

 

“Really? Funny how he ended up at Randall’s then,” Ned says. 

 

Zayn takes a deep breath when he catches the glint in Griff’s eyes.

 

“Doesn’t seem like the type to be up there,” Nava adds.

 

Zayn shrugs again. He can see Griff eyeing him.

 

“Funny coincidence,” Griff sing-songs. Zayn sighs. Ned chuckles.

 

“What are you trying to say?” Zayn accuses. 

 

“Nothing,” Griff answers, hiding a smile. 

 

“It could’ve just been a coincidence!” Zayn says. 

 

“Yeah, but remember -” Ned starts.

 

“AND I have music theory homework, see you all in a bit,” Zayn cuts off and stands up.

 

“Zennie, he’s pretty cute for a white boy!” he hears Chaynler call out before he walks into his room.

 

* * *

 

Keys.

 

Keys. Keys. _Keys._

 

Zayn’s head is throbbing - the only keys he’s aware of are keys to open your door. And the Florida Keys, which lies under his very limited knowledge of American geography. Griff says the Keys are nice though. Once they all get rich, Griff swears he’ll take all them there.

 

But anyway.

 

Keys. 

 

Musical keys. 

 

The one with one hashtag -

 

No, not hashtag, Zayn. Stupid. The _sharp._

 

Yes, the one with the one sharp. 

 

G.

 

It’s always when it got to music theory that he begins regretting saying “yes” to Professor Lowe. He hears Nava, Liso, Chaynler and Devon go on about it when they’re performing at Randall’s for open mic night, but he never got the stuff himself. He’ll just sing and it’s fine. But this is front and center of everything at the conservatory and he wishes his head absorbed it as fast as figuring out how to just sing something. 

 

He pushes the textbook and worksheet to the side and lets himself stretch out on his bed. He hears sizzling outside and smells another fried concoction cooking. Ned is going to burn it for sure, or make it bubble up and stain the poor the stove. 

 

The clock reads 9:30 PM. The homework isn’t due until the day after tomorrow. Zayn thinks he can afford a good lie-down. 

 

No more thinking about keys. 

 

But now his mind wanders and he thinks about the tip. He thinks about Griff’s accusation and he thinks about what Ned had said.

 

_Yeah, but remember -_

 

Alfie.

 

Zayn had hoped a snooty music conservatory would be enough distraction from it. But Ned had to mention _him._ It’s not Ned’s fault, Zayn had never let any of them see how much he regretted the Alfie thing. Maybe because he doesn’t want himself to know how much he had really regretted it either.

He had a year and a half. He waited until there was 10 minutes left, and a plane to Australia on the other end. 

 

He decides to go back to the music theory homework. The headache it gives him is a little less severe.

 

* * *

 

 

The conservatory smells like tin and old pastry on damp mornings. He’d taken the tube with Nava earlier and nearly got off with her at his old stop.

 

“Miss us already?” Nava jokes, but her face softens when she sees a hint of wetness in Zayn’s eyes. “We miss you too, for real,” she adds, before squeezing him tightly. Zayn looks out the window and watches until he can’t see her purple hair anymore.

 

She’s not here now. There’s no Ned an Griff either. No smell of Ned’s unsettingly strong coffee. 

 

Alfie echoes through his head again, but he shakes it off as he sets his mind on trying to remember where the choir room is. He really should’ve gotten a map. 

 

He nearly bumps into two trombones before he finally finds the choir room. It’s halfway filled, buzzing with soft conversation. Professor Lowe is still missing from the front, but he finds himself a seat close to his desk. He puts on his most aloof face and hopes no one bothers him.

 

He’s here to sing. That’s all.

 

It’s peaceful for a good five minutes before he hears squeaky Oxfords walking in the room. 

 

“Zack.”

 

He rolls his eyes and lets Edward see. Colin’s behind him, red-eared and clutching at his textbook. 

 

“Zayn,” he replies. 

 

“Right. Just wanted to say good morning,” he says, “You don’t have to sit that close to the front you know.”

 

“I’m fine,” Zayn says.

 

“If you’re trying to suck up to Professor Lowe, honestly, you’re better off -”

 

“Leave him alone, Ed.”

 

Colin’s voice was nearly a whisper, but firm. Edward suddenly cackles and turns to him with wide eyes. 

 

“Oh yeah, you’re friends now,” he says, “Sorry Colin’s new friend.”

 

He walks off, squeaky Oxfords making its way up the theater steps.

 

“Sorry,” Colin says softly, “For him, I mean.”

 

“It’s fine,” Zayn replies, “I’m used to it.”

 

“Don’t mean it’s okay. I’m also sorry for not saying anything yesterday.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, mate. Really. And anyway, the tip you gave Chaynler makes up for everything. Thanks.”

 

Colin’s cheeks are brushed with pink.

 

“Colin!” they hear Edward’s voice call.

 

“I’ll see you around?” he tells Zayn. 

 

“Yeah.”

 

Professor Lowe enters the room just seconds later. It’s not until they’re stood on the risers and he notices the moles on Colin’s arms that he realizes Chaynler is right. He hates when Chaynler is right. 

 

* * *

 

 

The rain lets up when Zayn’s break comes around. He thanks the heavens and grabs himself a sandwich from one of the trucks outside. He also gets a large coffee after remembering that beginner’s music theory is next. He can fall asleep at the thought of sitting in that class. 

 

He finds a secluded seat in the courtyard, shaded by an awning away from the rain. He nibbles on his sandwich and argues with himself on whether or not he should work on the theory homework. 

 

He listens to two blokes argue about a clarinet to his left for five minutes before giving in and pulling out the godforsaken homework. He’s a migraine and a half trying to remember where the hashtags - sharps go, when he feels something thud against his boot.

 

“Lord, I’m sorry. I feel like that’s all I ever say to you.”

 

Colin’s ears are red as always as he bent forward to pick up a thin book. 

 

“Dropping papers again?” Zayn jokes. Colin laughs, cheeks turning a deeper pink.

 

“Runaway choir book,” he replies. Colin’s smile is more relaxed when Edward isn’t next to him.

 

“Good thing you caught him, or he’d be taken to the choir book pound,” Zayn says.

 

Colin laughs again, face scrunching up. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah. Good thing,” he says. He drums his fingers along the strap of his bag before adding, “So, what are you up to?”

 

Zayn looks at the incomprehensible pencil marks he’d scrawled on the worksheet on his lap.

 

“Supposed to be my music theory homework,” he explains, “I just…this stuff just doesn’t sink in to my brain.”

 

“Need help?” Colin asks.

 

“Actually, if you don’t mind…”

 

Colin takes a seat beside him, and takes a glance at the worksheet.

 

“Now mate, don’t make fun of me, this stuff just won’t bloody sink in.”

 

“I won’t,” Colin smiles, “Had a bit of trouble when I started too. The memorization part is always the trickiest.”

 

“When did you start?”

 

Colin takes the worksheet from him and skims over the paper. 

 

“When I was 6.”

 

Zayn snorts. “Then there’s no hope for me!” Zayn chuckles.

 

“Nonsense,” Colin says, handing him back the worksheet, “It’s never too late to learn. Plus you’ve got a great ear. I hear you in choir, you don’t read the notes but you hit them perfectly.”

 

“Please,” Zayn says, feeling his cheeks heat up.

 

“Look. I’ve got a trick. It’s silly but I still use it.”

 

“What is it?” 

 

“Acrostics. To remember where the notes are on the staff.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. For the treble clef, every line is ‘every good boy does fine’. Every space is ‘face’.”

 

Zayn squints at his worksheet for a moment before nodding. That would’ve eased his life last night.

 

“Makes sense,” he says, “What about the bass clef?”

 

“Every line is ‘good boys do fine always.’ And the spaces are ‘ace g’,” Colin replies. 

 

Zayn nods again. He repeats the acrostic in his head until it’s a steady, repeating rhyme. 

 

“Got it?” Colin asks. 

 

“Yes. Amazing,” Zayn answered, “Thanks loads.”

 

“No problem. If you need any help, like I’ve said, I’ve been at it since I was six.”

 

“You don’t have to brag,” Zayn teases, “But thanks again. I’ll be sure to call for you next time I drive myself into a headache.”

 

“I’m usually at the piano room after school,” Colin informs him. 

 

“I’ll remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't guessed yet, I picture Alfie to look like well, [Alfie Enoch](http://cache3.asset-cache.net/gc/489457694-actor-alfred-enoch-is-photographed-for-new-gettyimages.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=X7WJLa88Cweo9HktRLaNXvn8Vj0D%2B5BLHaK6JzgrKhyOtYsE4z2w8gWX6EXY%2Fj8Q7XEsMoinwS5CNR4eZ4%2FwqyhS8qoIE47c3XlveLgeVHQ%3D).
> 
> I'm slowly exposing this as a self-indulgence project, oh well, what are fics for lol. 
> 
> I know, I'm creative. But he's cute, so!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the longest chapter so far, so sorry if it took _so_ long. This contains the first heavy Zayn/Colin interaction and me being a perfectionist, I wrote and re-wrote it. Heh.

Colin slides through the door just a second before Professor Taylor shuts it. 

 

“Don’t make it a habit to run late for advanced theory, Mr. Henstridge,” he snaps. 

 

“Sorry,” Colin mumbles as a he scans for an empty seat. Relief sets in his stomach when he catches Edward gesture for him in the back.

 

He sets his things down when he heard Edward whisper “You gonna call me out in front of anyone here too?”

 

Colin sighs and sets his textbook on the desk. 

 

“Sometimes you say unnecessary things,” he replies. Edward scrunches his brows and taps a pencil on Colin’s desk.

 

“You’re starting to sound like Charlotte,” he accuses. 

 

“Shhh!” Professor Taylor hisses as he starts scrawling a lopsided treble clef on the board.

 

Edward lowers his voice. 

 

“Anyway, it was a joke.”

 

“Please Ed.”

 

“What? He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.”

 

Colin flips through the textbook until he lands on the page written on the board. More musical theme analysis. Lovely.

 

“You implied that he’s a rent boy,” he whispers.

 

“I say that about every scholarship kid,” Edward argues. 

 

“It doesn’t make it okay to say it about them either.”

 

“Bloody hell, what’s made you so touchy?”

 

“I’m not touchy, maybe you’re just a prick!”

 

“Mr. Henstridge, Mr. Lockwood!” Professor Taylor grits through his teeth, head spinning around.

 

“Sorry,” Colin and Edward apologize in unison.

 

When the class ends, Edward doesn’t wait for Colin outside.

 

* * *

 

 

Colin thinks about apologizing to Edward. 

It’s when he’s sitting alone in the student area, nursing a now-cold sandwich he’d bought at the cafeteria. It’s here he realizes he doesn’t even know where he sat down to eat during his break every day. “Where” was wherever he’d followed Edward off to. He feels like he did when he went out in the rain the other day. 

 

Slightly lost. 

 

But quiet.

 

Peaceful.

 

He sighs and wonders how long Edward would keep up his silent treatment. The longest Edward had gone, Colin remembers, was for three weeks during their 5th year at prep school. Edward will come around, Colin thinks. They’ve had worse disagreements, it’s just on him to when he’ll bribe him with a night out. 

 

He kind of likes the quiet to be honest.

 

He spots Charlotte entering the student area, arms filled to the brim with choir books. She sees him and attempts to wave, nearly toppling over a side table. 

 

“Careful, Char,” he laughs as he takes a pile from her, placing it neatly on the table beside his uneaten sandwich.

 

“Professor Lowe asked me to pick up the new music,” Charlotte says, catching her breath, “I think this is the one we’re going to be singing at the ball.”

 

“Really?” Colin says curiously, pulling up one of the books.

 

 _Paramour: Music of Forbidden Love_ it reads.

 

Colin chortles. “I’ve never heard of this.”

 

Charlotte flips through her own copy and stops somewhere in the middle.

 

“Ah yes. This is what we’re singing,” she exclaims, “This is the one with the fancy tenor solo.”

 

Colin peeks over. 

 

“You know Edward’s going to get obsessed with snatching that,” he says. 

 

“Edward’s a baritone,” Charlotte responds, returning her book to the pile. 

 

Colin places his copy on top of Charlotte’s.

 

“That hasn’t stopped him before.”

 

Charlotte leans back against her chair, hair fanning out against the backrest. 

 

“I think Professor Lowe is serious about it this time,” she explains, “Edward’s only been getting solos because his father’s been so adamant about it. But this year’s a big deal for Professor Lowe.”

 

“How so?”

 

Charlotte lets her limbs relax as she pulls a bottle of water from her bag. 

 

“If our choir wins the best group performance at the ball, he could receive a grant,” Charlotte replies, taking a generous gulp of water, “I don’t think he’s going to let Edward’s forced tenor singing ruin it.”

 

“You have a point,” Colin admits. He chuckles to himself.

 

He nearly hears Edward’s tenor solo attempts rattling in his ears again. Colin has been nothing but truthful about it to him for years. 

 

“Ed, you’re not a tenor, please,” he’d said countless times. 

 

Edward shrugs it off, and Colin doesn’t know if whether or not he really thinks he sounds ace, or if he he really thinks he _can try._

 

“Speaking of him, are you two fighting?” Charlotte asks. 

 

Colin’s surprised it’s not the first thing she’d asked - it’s been a joke among them that he’s Edward’s puppy, or something like that. To Charlotte, it’s less of a joke and something more on the lines of “Col, you needn’t follow him everywhere.”

 

“I guess,” Colin answers, “Said some things he didn’t agree with in AP theory.”

 

“Oh? You tell him he’s a prick?”

 

Colin shakes his head. He picks up his uneaten sandwich and wraps it back up in its foil.

 

“I stood up for the new bloke.”

 

Charlotte’s eyes widen. 

 

“Wow. Good job, you.”

 

She looks a tad too happy about him telling Edward off.

 

“It’s not a big deal. He even said I was starting to sound like you,” Colin teases.

 

Charlotte fakes an offended face. 

 

“Good!” she says, softly slamming her palm on the table. Colin laughs and shoves the uneaten sandwich in his bag.

 

“Are you talking about the new guy in choir?” Charlotte asks. 

 

“Yeah. Zayn.”

 

Colin feels his cheeks warm up. 

 

“What’s he like?” 

 

“He’s very nice,” Colin replies, feeling a smile tug at the sides of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

Patricia, or at least that’s what Colin thinks her name is, picks up the last of her piano pieces and swoops them in her bag. He’d been waiting for her to leave the room for at least twenty-minutes now. He’d done a brisk walk around the right wing of the conservatory only to find she was still struggling with the same Bach piece she was punching out ten minutes ago. 

 

“Come on,” Colin mutters to himself. 

 

By the time the final class ends in the conservatory, the right wing is nearly isolated and Colin almost always has the piano room to himself. He’s not usually impatient, but he’d like to get in there…just in case Zayn shows up. He’s not entirely sure why and wants to smack himself for being preoccupied with the thought, but that’s all he thinks about as he impatiently taps his foot. 

 

Patricia slips her coat on and walks out the door, giving no attention to Colin. He hears her chunky heels tap down the hall. 

 

Colin lets himself on the piano and warms up with some scales before taking out the accompaniment to “Fool For You”. It’d strangely been the only piece he has in his head now, always swirling and floating around in his brain. He taps his foot to the key signature and starts. 

 

He’s fluttering halfway through the piece when he realizes he can hear a voice singing along. He wonders if he’s gone mental and continues playing but the voice continues. It’s sweet-sounding, like honey and smooth against his ears. It sounds all too familiar…

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, keep playing.”

 

Colin almost slips out of his seat when his eyes reach the doorway. 

 

It’s Zayn, smiling shyly, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, Colin feels his heart thud. 

 

“Oh no, it’s okay,” he tells Zayn, spinning around so fast, he kicks the piano pedal.

 

“Should’ve said hi or summat first,” Zayn apologizes, “But it sounded familiar and well…”

 

“No really, it’s fine. Yeah, it’s accompaniment for the song in choir.”

 

“Sick,” Zayn replies, the glint in his eyes makes Colin’s stomach fuzzy.

 

“No big deal,” Colin says.

 

“You’re pretty good,” Zayn says. 

 

Colin nervously swings his feet and this time accidentally kicks his bag. 

 

_Damn it, Colin._

 

 _“_ Not really,” he replies, “Anyone can look at a music sheet and play.”

 

“Well, you’re pretty good at this theory stuff. It’s still a talent, I’d say.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Colin thinks he’s going to truly slip off the chair by how sweaty his palms have gotten. He pulls them off the sides of the seat and wipes them on his jeans. 

 

“Speaking of which,” Zayn starts, walking towards him, “If you don’t mind, we started a new a section in beginner’s music theory and I’m afraid I’ve driven myself into a headache again.”

 

Colin feels his pocket buzz. He knows it’s Edward.

 

“No, I don’t mind at all. In fact, you want to go get something to eat?”

 

Zayn smiles.

 

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’re back at Randall’s again and Colin recognizes Chaynler. She gives him a warm smile, and something he doesn’t see that makes Zayn shoot her a look. She laughs and walks off, saying “Nice to see you again, Colin.”

 

They get cheese sticks and Colin insists on paying - but Zayn refuses. He wants to split it in half and Colin would’ve kept on insisting, but Zayn pleads and Colin finds it hard to resist when Zayn places his hands over his. He makes a mental note to somehow make it up to Zayn.

 

Zayn presents him with a scales worksheet and early piano lessons immediately drift back into Colin’s memory. He’s scared at first, he’d never been the best at explaining anything but it goes smoother than he’d imagined. Somehow, from all his stuttering, Zayn manages to pick up how to correctly memorize the major scales. Nice change from Edward’s constant “I don’t understand what you’re blathering about.”

 

When they finish the worksheet, Zayn places it back in his bag, and Colin’s slightly disappointed, he’d hoped it’d take longer (not that he thought Zayn was thick, but for some reason he’d hoped). But Zayn stays put and turns to Colin, bright-eyed enough to make his chest tingle.

 

“So do you live on-campus?” Zayn asks, fingers drumming against the plastic surface of the table. Colin notices the tattoo on the back of his hand.

 

“No,” he replies, eyes following the intricate design on Zayn’s hand, “I share a flat with Edward.”

 

Zayn almost snorts. 

 

“Must be fun, then?”

 

Colin chuckles. 

 

“I’m used to him, I guess. Grew up with him.”

 

Zayn’s face softens, and pulls his hand back onto his lap.

 

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to pick on your mate,” he apologizes. 

 

“No, it’s fine really,” Colin assures, shrugging, “He’s not easy to get along with. He’s an acquired taste. And anyway, he’s been horrid to you. I’m still sorry about that.”

 

“You’ve got to stop saying sorry, babe.”

 

A tickling feeling rushes from Colin’s heart to his stomach. He feels himself grip the edge of his seat tighter. 

 

God, his ears probably look like tomato now. 

 

Zayn must’ve noticed the change in his demeanor, because his face falls slightly from concern. 

 

“I’m sorry, did that make you uncomfortable?” he quickly says.

 

Colin can’t stand the brightness of Zayn’s eyes. The way his face fell so soft left a dull ache in his stomach.

 

“No, no, not at all. I’m just not used to people…being…affectionate?” he replies, heart thudding at the speed of light. He grips the edge of his seat tighter.

 

“I won’t call you that again if -”

 

“It’s quite all right,” Colin assures, unable to look away from the way Zayn’s face, “It’s n-nice. Anyway, we’ve said sorry a little too much. It’s really fine.”

 

“Sor-,” Zayn starts and chuckles, “All right. Never want to make you feel uncomfortable, yeah?”

 

Colin smiles and nods, before realizing he’d been swinging his feet wildly under the table. 

 

Zayn places his hand over Colin’s again and he feels the back of his neck warm up. It’s so silly, he thinks, but Zayn returns his smile and a blanket of calm drapes over his chest. 

 

“Thanks,” he says. His cheeks hurt. 

 

“You’ve got crazy dimples,” Zayn points out. For a minute, Colin thinks Zayn’s going to poke his finger on his cheeks, but he doesn’t. 

 

“They’re not a big deal,” Colin answers, “Much rather have eyelashes like yours.”

 

_What am I doing?_

 

“Dimples are nice,” Zayn affirms. 

 

Before Colin thinks they’ll fall into an awkward silence, Zayn asks him about his early piano lessons and he surprisingly finds himself opening up like an unlocked chest. 

 

“He’d munch on biscuits loudly while I did my scales. He could barely open his eyes,” Colin tells of his old piano teacher. 

 

“How the hell did you learn anything?” Zayn asks, laughing.

 

Colin shrugs. The memories are vivid now, his mum complaining about crumbs on the floor after every lesson.

 

“You really love music then,” Zayn says, “It’s hard learning from a biscuit-munching teacher who can’t open his eyes.”

 

“I guess so. Yeah. I do. My dad made me get lessons because I was rubbish at horseback riding. He didn’t really like me taking pictures.”

 

Zayn’s eyes grow wide.

 

“You take pictures?”

 

Colin feels embarrassment creep. 

 

“I take photography classes on the side, with my friend Charlotte. I got a hold of my sister’s disposable camera when I was little and I really loved it. Still do.”

 

“I’ve got to see your pictures,” Zayn beams. 

 

“They’re no good,” Colin counters.

 

“Don’t say that. I bet they’re great. If you show me your pictures I’ll show you my drawings.”

 

“You draw?” Colin asks. He feels his heart pinch.

 

“A bit, yeah,” Zayn replies. He rolls up his sleeve, releasing a flurry of butterflies from Colin’s stomach. It’s the sleeve of ink he’d seen from the first day. 

 

Zayn points to the microphone.

 

“I drew this one and found some bloke to tattoo it on me.”

 

Colin resists the urge to trace the ink on Zayn’s skin.

 

“Wow, that’s beautiful.”

 

He looks up to see Zayn’s cheeks turn a shade of pink.

 

“It’s all right,” Zayn says softly.

 

“No, it’s great, really.”

 

Zayn’s eyes grow bright. 

 

“Two of my favorite things in life,” Zayn explains as he traces his finger down the microphone, “Drawing and music.”

 

“Nice,” Colin whispers in awe. His eyes catch the rest of the other tattoos that swirl up and down Zayn’s arm. He spots a “zap” and crossed fingers. He wonders if they mean anything as well. 

 

“What about your photographs, do they mean anything?”

 

The question takes Colin by surprise. 

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. It’s mostly pictures of places I’ve gone to alone, or with Charlotte. Edward doesn’t know about it, he thinks it’s stupid.”

 

“It’s not,” Zayn assures, “Does it make you happy?”

 

“Massively. That and music. Never was a big fan of my dad or older brother growing up, and since they both hated the photography thing, I latched onto my piano and choir. One thing they can’t try to bother me for.”

 

“I’m sorry. You never have to feel bad about those things around me, yeah? You should see my bunch of friends. One of them makes up fried concoctions as a hobby,” Zayn says. 

 

Colin laughs, heart fluttering as Zayn follows, his eyes crinkling. 

 

“How about you then? The music and drawing mean anything to you?” he asks.

 

“Escape too, I suppose. We didn’t have much growing up, and still don’t. It was something to look forward to, you know? Forget for a bit that my parents were scraping the bottom of the barrel to pay the bills. They’d both sit down and smile whenever I’d start singing. I was terrible then though.”

 

“Please,” Colin says, now putting his own hand over Zayn’s, “For you it’s god-given. You more than deserve getting into the conservatory.”

 

Zayn smiles again, and Colin’s heart feels so full he doesn’t realize that the sky had turned dark outside now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also started making [movie posters based off Zayn's songs](http://zainbending.tumblr.com/tagged/mvau), and I based Bordersz off this fic, so I made this [corny edit](http://zainbending.tumblr.com/post/143861493413/zayn-songs-as-feature-films-5-borders-posh-boy). For your viewing pleasure if you want lol.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also read the fic at my blog as I update: http://zainbending.tumblr.com/tagged/the-lark
> 
> It will probably be updated there first!


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